Like Father, Like Daughter
by hennaravenclaw
Summary: By day, Gemma Jadette Gardner is an unassuming Hogwarts student. By night, she is the revered Princess of Death Eaters. Read to find out about this girl's adventures as her father's spy within Hogwarts!
1. Prologue

Prologue

It was half-past-one. The castle was silent, still. Everyone was asleep, slumbering restfully in their four poster beds. One person, however, was lying wide awake in her bed, excitement coursing through her veins. One Gemma Jadette Gardner, to be exact. She lay in the fifth-year girls' Gryffindor dormitory, eyes fixed upon the clock on her bedside table. 1:31:32… 1:31:35… come on! she thought fiercely.

At long last, the clock showed that it was one-thirty-five sharp. Gemma sprang out of bed, almost forgetting the need to be silent in her rush to be off. Hands shaking, she grabbed her eleven-inch cherry wood phoenix-feather-core wand and pointed it at herself, immediately removing her glamour charms. Gemma's red hair lengthened and darkened, her skin whitened, her eyes changed from sky blue to deepest violet and she shrank by several inches.

Someone who was MOST DEFINITELY NOT Gemma stood beside the bedside table, desperately trying to decide what to wear. "Dress like danger itself," her Father had said. She knew how picky he could be, and how it was of paramount importance to please him. Seeing as there was no time to lose, she wriggled out of her pajamas and slipped into a set of black silk robes and ripped-out lace navy stockings. She cast a quick Invisibility Charm, then grabbed her black travelling cloak and an ornate silver dagger that used to be her mother's before tiptoeing out of the dormitory, down the stairs and out of the portrait hole which she had deliberately left open earlier.

Once outside, she-who-was-not-Gemma leaned against the wall of the corridor and breathed a huge sigh of relief. So far, so good, she thought, she glanced at her watch, then hurried off with the practiced swiftness of a ninja, her riding boots moving soundlessly along the hard stone floor.

Once she arrived on the grounds at 1:49 a.m., the girl retreated into the shadows and waited patiently, holding her breath. One minute later, a handsome screech owl, swooped down, dropped something on the ground and disappeared into the night sky, hooting. She dashed forward and examined the thing. Just an ordinary tin can—or was it? She took a deep breath, bent down and grasped the object and her alabaster-white hands. Instantly, she felt a jerking sensation behind her navel, then Belladonna Emerald Riddle's feet left Hogwarts ground.


	2. Chapter 1--Hello, Father

Chapter 1—Hello, Father Dearest

I landed with a thump on the soft earth, disoriented and slightly nauseous. Ugh. Portkey was definitely NOT my favourite way to travel. Where was I, though? Looking around me, I noticed that I was surrounded by lush greenery. A crystalline brook bubbled and gurgled next to me. Finally, I espied a medium-sized cottage in the woods not far away from me. It seemed perfectly harmless, but there was a distinct aura of Dark magic to it that seemed totally at odds with its exquisite surroundings. But I just knew it—this was where I had to go.

I rose slowly, holding on to a nearby tree trunk for support. Steadying myself, I hurried towards the cottage at a run. Father would skin me alive if I was late. Once I reached my destination, I took hold on the silver serpent-shaped knocker and knocked firmly thrice. There was a pitter-patter of feet, and then a nervous high-pitched male voice called, "Who are you? Declare yourself!"

"It is I, Belladonna Riddle. Open the door this instant, or I shall run you through with my dear sweet mother's silver dagger," I smirked as I spoke, fingering my beloved silver dagger lovingly. There was a noise of heavy padlocks being unlocked, and then the door swung open with a creak of unoiled hinges that made my raven hair stand on end. Standing in the doorway was a short, plump, balding man wearing an ingratiating smile and bowing as low as his rheumatic knees would allow him. His silver hand gleamed in the faint light of the overhead glass chandelier.

"Take these," I snapped, throwing my thick cloak and travelling bag at him. Wormtail let out an 'oof' of surprise, but I paid no mind to him as I walked up the dusty stairs to the room where I knew my father awaited

"This is it, Bell. Do not make a mess of this or you will rue the day you were born," I said to myself as I stood outside Father's study. Yes, I talk to myself. I've found that it improves self-control. Taking a deep breath of musty air, I knocked.

"Come in," a high, cold voice called. Pushing the door open I found myself in an elaborately decorated study. Silver and green hangings filled the room. Mahogany shelves were filled with piles of parchments and thick tomes perched precariously on top of one another. A bald, pale man in midnight-black robes was seated at a table, poring over a report. "Boots off and at the door please. You know how particular I am about cleanliness. There are slippers for you to wear. Put them on, then come and stand five paces behind my chair," the man said without so much as glancing up at me. I hastily complied.

The moment I had assumed my position, the man whirled around, his red serpent-like eyes flashing as he raised his wand and shot a jet of red light at me. Fortunately, my wand was at the ready. I threw myself to the ground, narrowly avoiding his Cruciatus Curse and flinging one of my one back at him. He smirked, deflecting it easily with a swift flick of his wand and shot a volley of hexes at me, which I blocked with a solid Shield Charm. The spells ricocheted off in all directions, shattering glass and destroying furniture.

"Good job, Bella _dear_," said my father, Lord Voldemort, as his high, cold laugh pierced the air.

A/N: If you happen to notice any of your ideas in my story, please, please don't be offended. I have no intention of plagiarising, I only tried to edit what I loved in other stories and incorporate them fittingly into my own story because I admired your work so much. If you want to, send me a message and I will post a credits section in my next chapter to let everyone know that I "borrowed" one of your ideas. Thank you so much for reading this!

-Love, hennaravenclaw


	3. Chapter 2--The First Meeting

Chapter 2—The First Meeting

"Well, well, my child. You've grown so much. Thank goodness you have my hair, not your mother's," my father bared his teeth in a rather intimidating grin. Instinctively, I knew something was wrong. Father never joked. Never. Well… unless he needed to ask a huge favour…

_Here it comes_, I thought as my Father cleared his throat and fidgeted slightly in his chair. "Bella, since you are fifteen now, I find it appropriate that you join one of my little…gatherings."

I nearly fainted on the spot. He wanted me to join a Death Eater meeting?! Fighting to keep my face devoid of expression, I sealed my mind using all the Occlumency techniques I had ever learnt while praying that he would not choose this moment to use his stellar Legilimency skills, for showing fear in front of my father was akin to walking around with a giant neon sign that read: I am a sucker, kill me now! on my forehead. He stared hard at my forehead for what seemed like aeons, furrowing his brow in pure concentration. At long last, he let out a high, cold laugh which made the hairs on the back of my slender neck stand up. "Calm yourself, Bella. He's your _father_, how can you be unnerved by him? Pathetic! " I snarled at myself.

"Well, well, my dear. I see you've been practicing you Occlumency diligently," chuckled my father. "That will be of good use against Snape. Do NOT look at him during the meeting. He swears up and down that he's loyal to me, but you never know with him. Keep your mouth shut; I can't afford anyone finding out about your other identity. Don't tell them about Gemma Gardner, is that clear?"

I nodded. "Yes, father."

"Now, go. Nagini will be with you. And you have my full permission to curse anyone who looks at you the wrong way, if you know what I mean." He winked deviously.

I turned and exited the room, Nagini slithering at my heels. As much as I hated to admit it, I was filled with apprehension. I mean, really, who would want to be stuck in a room full of homicidal maniacs and sadists? All of a sudden, a husky voice interrupted my train of thoughts. "Hello, pretty girl. Looking fine tonight, ain't ya? Why don't you and I—" Before he could continue, I whipped out my wand and pointed it at the face of the stocky man who was standing before me, face obscured by a Death Eater mask. "Crucio!" he let out an unearthly roar and toppled backwards onto the parquet floor, writhing in pain. I smirked triumphantly. Evidently, my Cruciatus curse was stronger than anything he had previously experienced.

Without lifting the curse, I unsheathed my dagger and knelt beside him, pressing it against his neck. I could feel his pulse flittering madly beneath my fingers, just like a frightened rabbit. His eyes—well, what at least what I could see through his mask—were rolling about wildly. "Tsk, tsk, look at you. A grown man, cowering at the feet of a fifteen-year-old girl. How utterly pathetic. I can't see why Father would want scum like you as one of his Death Eaters." I released him form the vice-like grip of the Cruciatus and he lay on the floor, panting. His mask had slipped off, and I found myself staring at the face of Thorfinn Rowle. At last, realisation dawned on him.

"Your… your father… Death Eaters… ohh, Merlin's pants!" he gibbered incoherently, pupils dilating in terror at he stared transfixed at me. I rose, keeping my wand trained on his face. "Yes, you blithering fool! I. Am. Voldemort. And. Bellatrix. Lestrange's. Daughter! Mess with me and you will rue the day you were born. I am your Princess and from now on, any disruption shown to me is equivalent to disloyalty to my father. Of course, you know what the penalty for _that_ is. Do I make myself perfectly clear?" I snarled in my most menacing voice. The voice that made Nagini scramble to hide in a dark corner for cover, the voice that my father, the fearsome Lord Voldemort himself cringe and wince. Needless to say, Rookwood swiftly stuttered out an apology and fled into the meeting room, all traces of his earlier lecherousness completely gone.

Satisfied that I had achieved dominance, I entered the meeting room, in which five or six men stood. Immediately whispers flitted through the chamber and I could feel the heat of the men's appraising eyes on me. Undeterred, I strode forward with an impassive expression, taking my place beside Father's ivory throne. Much to my relief, there were not Muggles in the room awaiting torture, as was the custom during meetings. Yes, I believed Muggles were filth and I did fancy hitting an innocent person with the Cruciatus every now and then, but that did not mean that I _enjoyed_ seeing blood and guts all over the floor. Beside, whenever there were Muggle females, certain… indelicate things tended to happen, and that was not something I ever wanted to see.

"This," my father called out, "is my daughter, Belladonna Emerald Riddle, Princess of Death Eaters." Gasps echoed from all around the room, but they were quickly stifled. I stared unwaveringly at all of them, determined not to show a shred of weakness. Not here. Not in front of _these_ people.

"I have brought her here today not for her initiation, but for her first meeting, which will be a short one as we are short of time tonight. Her initiation will be discussed at a later date. We are here to discuss the prophecy regarding the Potter boy and myself. I cannot take the prophecy myself, for it is protected by ancient magic. Tonight, you are here to devise a plan for the successful retrieval of the prophecy. Bella shall lead the discussion," proclaimed my father. I stepped forward, wand clutched tightly at my side. "Well," said I, "Avery, I understand that you work in the Ministry of Magic. Lucius, I know you have connections where it matters. So, any ideas?"

There was a long pause. "Your Highness, I have a plan," ventured Avery. "Of all the Senior Unspeakables, Broderick Bode is the most weak-willed. I propose that we put an Imperius Curse on him and force him to take the prophecy for us." I wrinkled my nose a little at this suggestion. "Are you sure? Will he be able to touch the prophecy if it has nothing to do with him? If a wizard as powerful as Father was unable to do it, well, what makes you think that Bode would be able to? " I queried.

Though his mask concealed his face, I was certain that at that moment, Avery's face was as white as a sheet. "Well, he is an Unspeakable, Your Highness. Surely they must have been taught something during their training that would be of use in this situation…" I was pretty sure that only I had noticed the almost-but-not-quite-well-supressed tremor in his voice. Seeing as my mind was completely devoid of useful ideas at the moment, and that I was a complete novice when it came to prophecies (I did not study Divination),I had no choice but to agree.

"Alright, then. It does seem as though we have gotten the main ideas down. Avery, practice your Imperius, make sure you get Bode with a powerful one. Malfoy, use your connections to get everyone out of the way including those pesky wizards who have been hanging around the Department of Mysteries lately. Do not rush into things. We do not want anyone at the Ministry to get wind of our intentions.

"Fear not, Your Highness. No one at the Ministry would ever dream that our Lord is back and ready to rule again." An oily voice rang out from next to Father. Shoulder-length blond hair, slight build, elaborately decorated cane. Definitely a Malfoy. "Fudge is as deluded as ever, and the Wizengamot is rather inclined to believe that Dumbledore is a senile, barmy old fool who has nothing better do to than to spout utter codswallop."

"Still, it is better to err on the side of caution," I shot back, with an edge in my voice. Fortunately, (for him, that is,) Malfoy was wise enough to back down. "Of course, Your Highness. You know best. I apologise for my hastiness," he murmured, bowing so low that his face was nearly parallel to the ground.

I continued, "Seeing as everything is nicely settled, I shan't stay any longer. I have urgent businesss to attend to." It _was _partially true, anyway. If I didn't make it back in time and my absence was noted… well it really didn't bear thinking about. With that, I turned and walked towards the exit. Of course, the fearful looks that the six Death Eaters shot me did not escape my notice. I smirked as I swept out of the room in a cloud of midnight-black robes. I was beginning to see what Father had meant about how people could get drunk on power…

I stepped into the parlour and picked up the Portkey—a coat hanger which my father had so kindly placed outside for me. Instantaneously, I felt a highly unpleasant jerking sensation behind my navel and my feet were lifted off the ground.


	4. Chapter 3--Sweet Memories

A/N: Thank you so much for all your views! I really appreciate it. Sorry for the long wait. I came down with a nasty case of writer's block. . If you don't mind, please take a minute to R&R. I'd really like to know what my shortcomings are and what you would like to see in this story. (in the way of pairings etc.) Thanks!

Credits go to Susan Coolidge for the quote highlighted in pink and Cressida Cowell for the quote highlighted in blue.

Chapter 3—Sweet Memories

Thump! I dropped onto my downy bed with a gasp, which I swiftly stifled. Fortunately, all the other girls just stirred slightly or sighed in their sleep. Even bushy-haired Granger, who was an abnormally light sleeper, merely rolled over. I lay there for an hour or possibly more, envisioning fluffy sheep frolicking animatedly in a field, yet sleep stubbornly refused to come to me. Bored to tears, I began to daydream—oh, all right then,_ night_dream about my past…

My earliest memory is of exploring the Nott Family Library and getting hopelessly lost in the labyrinth of dusty tomes. After two hours of futilely trying to find my way out, I sat down on the icy floor and bawled my eyes out. Luckily, my wails alerted the Nott family house-elf to my predicament and she led me out of there. I was three then, and that was the last time I ever cried.

I committed my first murder when I was six. Yes, six. It was with Father's help of course. I could never have pulled off such a heinous deed on my own at that tender age. Mr. Nott had somehow managed to get into contact with my father (in Goblet of Fire, it is mentioned that Nott Senior did not search for Voldemort after his disappearance. However, in this story, Voldemort lied about that because he did not want anyone to find out about Bella.) , at that time a mere spirit, less than the meanest ghost, ensconced in the lush forests of Albania. That night, Mr. Nott took me to my father, who possessed me for a few hours, channeling all his power into six-year-old me. It wasn't _that _bad actually, it was just a big blank. I have no recollection of what happened; it was Mr. Nott who filled me in afterwards. Apparently, I had Avada Kedavraed Gemma Jadette Gardner in her sleep. No pain, no shrieks of agony or terror, just one flash of blinding emerald light and the dull thump of her dead body hitting the floor and it was over as quickly as it had started. Aided by my father, I transfigured myself and glamour charms till my body was identical to Gemma's. I then Vanished her dead body, crawled into bed, and thoroughly exhausted, fell asleep.

My father and I have always had telepathy. In all those years with the Gardners, (Mrs. Gardner was a half-blood witch, her husband was a Muggle, ew, although that's not quite the point) he was the one who taught me how to conduct myself such that the Gardners would never realise that their precious daughter was not what she seemed. He the one who drilled in into my head that discretion is the better part of valour that valour itself was something to be used sparingly and with great caution. He instructed me on how to lie without batting an eyelash, how to read expressions, how to blend into the shadows and silently observe all around me. In short, he groomed me to be the perfect Slytherin, one of whom Salazar Slytherin himself would be proud of.

But I was never sorted into Slytherin. I was in Godric Gryffindor's house instead. Godric Gryffindor, courageous, chivalrous, a champion of Muggle-borns. Me, sly devious, always hiding in the shadows, watching everyone and everything. Me, with an absolute loathing for Muggles and Mudbloods inculcated in me by daddy dearest. Now, you might ask, why did I believe all that tripe about Mudbloods being Muggles that had stolen their magic from wizards, causing said wizards to become Squibs? Or about Muggles having mud flowing through their veins? Well, the answer is, when you're four and your father tells you that all Muggles are scum, you believe it because you don't know any better. However, when I grow older and found out that I had been fed a copious amount of propaganda, I guess I just changed my reason for abhorring Muggles: Magic is Might, Might is Right.

And how did I get sorted into Gryffindor House, with me being the polar opposite of everything its founder had stood for? That year, my father was at Hogwarts in the bod of weak-willed, malleable Professor Quirrell. Professor Quirrell was an ambitious yet inordinately foolish young man who was travelling and seeing the world when he had the misfortune of running into my father. Father, being an expert at reading people, saw his fatal flaw—weakness of character combined with an all-consuming thirst for power and seized the opportunity. He poured lies into Quirrell's trusting ears: "There is no evil or good. There is only power, and those too weak to seek it. Join me, and you will rule by my side when I rise again." As if. I would be the one who ruled by Father's side. Quirrell was only a pawn (and a very dispensable one at that) in Father's game of chess.

And so, Quirrell came to Hogwarts with Father's soul within him. With Father's help, he cast a non-verbal Confundus charm on the Hat just as it touched my head, causing the Hat to get horribly muddled and place me into Gryffindor, the house that Father had predicted that Harry Potter would be in. It was only years later that I found out how close we had come to placing me in the wrong house: Ronald Weasley had mentioned in passing that Harry, Father's nemesis was almost a Slytherin! Potter, son of a Mudblood with his inane hero complex, in the noble House of Slytherin! He would be sullying our name! But then… he could speak Parseltongue and he had an admirable amount of resourcefulness, mental fortitude and determination, qualities that Salazar prized above all in his handpicked students…

All right then, enough on that wretched Potter. You must, of course, have been wondering how I bore having to pose as a half-blood and live with a Muggle at home and Mudbloods in Gryffindor tower? I'd chalk it all up to self-control. I always kept up a sweet, friendly cordial front, but under that perfect façade, there was always a raging undercurrent of pure hatred and contempt. Even as a child, I had a charmed ledger in which I rewrote my life. It was charmed and locked so that no one save myself could ever peruse it. I remember my first entry: My name is Gemma. I love cats. I'm terrified of dogs. I hate macaroni. Over the years, I perfected my art and became a model actress. My diary entries eventually became progressively less trivial as I painstakingly carved out a personality and diligently followed my "life story" in every waking moment.

Yes, it was difficult being Father's spy within Hogwarts. I had to assimilate myself with the looks-obsessed, bimbotic girls, namely Lavender and Parvati, keep my intelligence under wraps and act book-smart but not particularly street-smart. All this was incredibly difficult for an individualistic, intellectual girl such as myself. But I pushed through—all for Father's sake of course. He forbade me from letting anyone know that I was his daughter. "Things like this spread like wildfire. I don't want anyone to know of your existence—not that I'm not proud of you, of course," he would add as he ruffled my raven tresses in his one gesture of affection. "It's merely that there are scores of people whose hatred for me runs down to their very marrows and they would not hesitate to use you to retaliate against me. You see, Bella? They call themselves good, yet they too can go crazy with blood lust and vengeance, good and evil are merely figments of imagination, a sham devised by simpletons who see the world in black and white. They are wrong, Bella. Nothing is fixed. The world is painted in shades of grey and it is up to you to manipulate the pieces of society, draw in the weak and the like-minded and annihilate those who oppose you. If you succeed, the world will bend to your will and your will rule." These are the things that he whispered to me through our telepathical connection in the dead of the night, while I listened with saucer-wide eyes and bated breath. These are the lessons that will stay with me for life that have embedded themselves in my psyche and made me who I am. Sometimes I wonder if it would be better to be a normal girl—just like Gemma would have been if I hadn't murdered her in cold blood.

As much I hate to admit it, I secretly revel in being Gemma. Being a normal girl whose only worries are boys, looks and school is oh-so-appealing at times. It would certainly be a luxury to not have to spend all one's time stealthily spying on Harry Potter, desperately trying to ascertain how he brought down the most powerful wizard of all time without lifting a finger. But no matter. These are thoughts that only sneak up on me in moments of weakness and such moments are few and far between. I was not involved in the opening of the Chamber of Secrets, the escape of Wormtail, or the near-murder of Harry Potter in the Triwizard Tournament. Father kept me in the dark about all his grand schemes—something which made me feel highly indignant initially. Later, he told me to bide my time and wait patiently for the day when I was old enough to command respect from even his most senior Death Eaters. A day, which I feel, is well on its way.

So I suppose it all boils down to the mantra which I repeat in my head every day, an endless loop with no start or end: "I am pure evil, capable of anything and my goal is total world domination." No matter how skilled I am at deflecting assaults on my mind, there is one person I cannot block: myself. Try as I might, I cannot force back the shadow of doubt that creeps up on me sometimes, the little voice of dissent that harshly questions whether I really want to be remembered as ruthless and heartless when I am dead and gone, lying still in my grave. Somehow, the volume of that voice rapidly escalates whenever I catch sight of Seamus Finnigan's blue eyes.


	5. Chapter 4--The First Day

A/N: I would just like to clarify a few things because I think I might have severely exaggerated Bella's beauty and her magical abilities. Yes, she was pretty (inherited from her parents) but not quite drop-dead gorgeous or particularly exotic. She can do Occlumency because her Father gave her extensive lessons. If I'm not wrong, Draco was able to do Occlumency in his sixth year after being taught by Bellatrix Lestrange, so I thought it wouldn't be too much of a stretch for her to have mastered it by the time she was fifteen. Also, in Chapter 1, when her father dueled with her, he was going very easy on her, because a dead spy is pretty much useless. If she had to fight him in real life, she would be stone dead in five seconds flat. Sorry for not making these things clear.

Chapter 4: The First Day

I sat listlessly in the Great Hall, poking at my porridge, which was looking incredibly unappetising. By now, I was sorely regretting that unusual burst of sentimentality that had occurred last night. If I had not spent all night reminiscing about my past and mourning the death of the real Gemma, I would not be half as tired as I was now. As Father often said, there was no point crying over spilled potion, and what was done could not be undone. Not that I regretted it, of course. All around me, there was a perfect Babel of noise and chatter generated by students thrilled to be back at Hogwarts after a long summer, but I was too fatigued to open my mouth. "Gemma? You all right? You look a little peaky," Lavender commented. "I'm fine. Just had a little trouble sleeping last night—you know, worrying about O.W.L.s." I lied smoothly. Thankfully, she nodded, turned back to Parvati and continued nattering on about the latest hairstyles. I could not resist smirking just a little, letting my red hair swing forward so no one would see my expression. Being exhausted clearly did not damage my ability to lie.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Unable to resist the soporific effect of Professor Binns' voice during History of Magic, I fell asleep and woke to find a puddle of drool on my textbook. How absolutely mortifying.

At long last, the final lesson of the day—Defense Against the Dark Arts rolled around. By that time, I was practically dead on my feet. To my surprise, we were told to put away our wands, take out our quills and copy down the course aims: 1. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic. 2. Learning to recognise situations in which defensive magic can legally be used. 3. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use. I wrinkled my brow in puzzlement as I stared fixedly at the blackboard. There was nothing, absolutely nothing about actually _using _magic in the course aims. What in the name of Merlin was the Ministry thinking? I could sense Umbridge looking at me, so I quickly ducked my head and hastily began to read the assigned chapter. Before I could even take in the contents of the first page, however, Hermione Granger's voice rang out from directly behind me. "Excuse me, Professor. I have a query about your course aims. There's nothing in there about actually using defensive magic," she stated bluntly.

"What, using defensive magic?" the toad-like professor gave a short, derisive laugh. "Surely you don't think that a situation would arise in _my_ classroom in which you were attacked and had to defend yourself. Oh, no, my dear children, no need to be afraid, you are _perfectly_ _safe_ here, " she continued in a patronising tone that made it absolutely clear that she found us incredibly foolish. I could not help bristling a little at her tone. How dare she treat us like a bunch of five-year-olds?

Naturally, her words unleashed a barrage of questions as outraged students demanded to know how on earth we were supposed to perform the spells during our OWLs if we did not have a single chance to practice in class. To her credit, Professor Umbridge was cool as a cucumber, dealing with the queries shot at her by the class. (The following scene in italics is taken from Order of the Phoenix, with a little bit of paraphrasing) _"I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough—"_

"_And what good's theory going to be in the real world?" said Harry loudly, his fist in the air again. Professor Umbridge looked up._

"_This is school, Mr. Potter, not the real world," she said softly._

"_So we're not supposed to be prepared for what's waiting out there?"_

"_There is nothing waiting out there, Mr. Potter."_

"_Oh yeah?" said Harry. He had always had a quick temper, and I could tell that he was about to flare up._

"_Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?" inquired Professor Umbridge in a horribly honeyed voice that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up._

"_Hmm, let's think," said Harry in a mock-thoughtful voice, "maybe Lord Voldemort?"_

_Ronald gasped; Lavender uttered a little scream; Neville slipped sideways off his stool. I hastily forced a petrified expression onto my face lest anyone find my lack of terror suspicious. Professor Umbridge, on the other hand, did not flinch. She was staring at Harry with a grimly satisfied expression on her face._

"_Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter."_

_The classroom was silent and still. Everyone was staring at either Umbridge or Harry._

"_Now, let me make a few things quite plain," Professor Umbridge stood and leaned towards us, her stubby-fingered hands splayed on the desk. "You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead—"_

"_He wasn't dead," said Harry angrily, "but yeah, he's returned!" Glee surged through me. If anything could make more people believe that Harry was insane, it was this display of anger. He really did look quite mad, with his hands shaking and his eyes bulging in rage._

"_Mr.-Potter-you-have-already-lost-your-House-ten-po ints-do-not-make-matters-worse-for-yourself,"said Professor Umbridge in one breath, studiously avoiding his gaze. "As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is at large one again. This is a lie._

"_It is NOT a lie!" said Harry. "I saw him, I fought him!"_

"_Detention, Mr. Potter!" said Professor Umbridge triumphantly. "Tomorrow evening. Five o'clock. My office. I repeat, this is a lie. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If you are still worried, by all means come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will kindly continue your reading. Pave five, 'Basics for Beginners.'" _

_And with that, she sat down behind her desk. Harry, however, got to his feet. Everyone was staring at him._

"_Harry, no!" Always the prudent one, Hermione Granger tugged at his sleeve, but Harry jerked his arm out of her reach._

"_So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?" Harry asked, his voice shaking._

_There was a collective intake of breath from the class. None of us, perhaps except for Ron and Hermione, had ever heard Harry talk about what had happened on the night my father had risen again. Everyone stared avidly from Harry to Professor Umbridge, who had raised her eyes and was staring at him without a trace of a fake smile on her face._

"_Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident," she said coldly._

"_It was murder," said Harry, trembling violently as all thirty of us listened eagerly. "Voldemort killed him and you know it."_

_Instead of throwing a hissy fit as I had expected, the Professor said in her softest, most sweetly girlish voice, "Come here, Mr. Potter dear."_

_Harry kicked his chair aside, strode around Ronald and Hermione and up to the desk. The rest of the class looked on, holding its breath. She pulled a small roll of pink parchment out of her handbag (ew, what an absolutely revolting colour), stretched it out on the desk, dipped her quill into a bottle of ink and started scribbling, hunched over to hide the words. Silence reigned in the room. After a minute or so she rolled up the parchment and tapped it with her wand, causing it to seal itself seamlessly._

"_Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear," said Professor Umbridge, holding out the note to him._

_Harry took it from her without saying a word, turned on his heel and left the room. _"Well, what are you waiting for?" inquired Professor Umbridge brightly, still smiling that horrible toad-like smile. "Kindly carry on with your reading." Although her tone and expression appeared sweet, there was a coldness beneath it that made me shiver. She _looked _kind, yes, but I could tell that she was evil personified and her menacing aura rattled me more than I cared to admit. My classmates had probably sensed this too—they all returned to their books obediently and studied assiduously (or at least pretended to be doing so). No one, not even Hermione Granger, who was famous for hardheadedness, dared to argue with her. Looking extremely satisfied, the squat Professor sat back down.

At nine o'clock that night, I retired to my dormitory, which was empty save for me. All the other girls were still struggling to get through their mountain of homework. I had finished with the bulk of it since I had skipped my midday meal and gone to the library instead. Priorities. You'll never get anywhere without them. (A/N: I am NOT encouraging anorexia or being a workaholic. These are Bella's warped views, not mine. :P) It was a beautiful night, clear and starry, but I was in no mood to enjoy it. For some reason, my telepathic connection _was not working! _After ten minutes of trying and failing to reach Father, my palms were clammy with sweat and I was swearing like a sailor under my breath. Father was expecting a report by nine o'five sharp tonight! Sweet Salazar, I was in hot potion now. His telepathic connection with me had rarely failed in past years. It was rather powerful, having been established through ancient magic after I murdered Gemma. Not love. Dark magic. A blood bond, forged through the shared thrill of killing the girl created in those exhilarated moments just after the kill.

"Relax, Bella," I muttered. "Stay calm." I lay down on my bed and tried to envision my father sitting in the picturesque cottage, called out to him in my mind. "Father, where are you? Father?" Out of the blue, a high, clear voice devoid of human kindness rang out in my head. "Belladonna Emerald Riddle. You. Are. Late." Even a fool would be able to sense how irate he was. To him, time was Galleons.

Thinking on my feet, I went for Lucius Malfoy-style groveling since I was too drained to employ Occlumency to cover up my lies. "I'm so sorry, Father. I couldn't muster the mental focus to establish to connection. But I have good news for you! The Ministry still refuses to believe that you are back, and they maintain that 'Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident'. Best of all, our new Defense teacher is a foul toad who will not teach any practical Defense. So none of the students will be properly trained in combat! " There was a long, nasty pause that seemed to stretch on forever. Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease don't let him get angry.

After what felt like a million years, he spoke. "Good, good. Lucius Malfoy mentioned some time ago that Fudge feared Dumbledore was organising an army consisting of Hogwarts students to overthrow the Ministry. Naturally, I was reluctant to believe him at that time, given his propensity to exaggerate. Since your account corroborates his, I suppose it is true. However, I am very displeased with you behavior. One more time and there will be consequences. " I was far too relieved about getting off scot-free to worry about said consequences. There wouldn't be a next time, anyway. Voldemort's daughter did not make the same mistake twice. Generally, I'd like to say that Voldemort's daughter does not make mistakes at all (if you can dream it, you can do it! Go Bella!) but that does not always happen. A pity, as Father enjoys frequently reminding me.

"Right, then," he continued, shattering my reverie. "I have things to do." And just like that, the connection was cut off. Still marveling at my good fortune of not being punished for my tardiness, I rolled over and began siphoning the sweat out of my clothes. They had become absolutely drenched over the last five minutes. I then made myself comfortable and soon fell asleep, dreaming of a certain Irish boy…


	6. Midnight Prowlings and Surprises

Chapter 5—Midnight Prowlings and Surprises

"Merlin," I moaned, running a hand through my hair as I stared at the Arithmancy charts spread out on the table in front of me. At the best of times, I was only fairly proficient at Arithmancy, unlike Hermione Granger, who seemed to have a natural affinity for numbers. They just didn't sit that well with me. Now, I was so tired that the numbers seemed to be swimming about on the page and, try as I might, I simply could not make sense of them. It was awfully late, and all the students, even the NEWT ones, were back in the dormitories. Unfortunately, I had gotten so sick of the endless homework and studying that I had decided to take a nice long walk around the grounds this afternoon instead of completing my homework. This being a decision which I now sorely regretted. The Arithmancy homework was due during first period the next morning and I still had a fair bit left to go.

"Stupid, stupid Bella" I chided myself as I added a few more digits to the chart. "Oh, it's no use, I can't think, I'll just have to do it tomorrow morning," I muttered crossly, shoving the papers to the side of the table. Shakily, I rose and began to scale the seemingly never-ending flights of stairs. After what seemed like an eternity, I arrived at the dormitory labelled 'fifth-years'. Reaching for the knob, I was violently startled to hear agitated _male _voices emanating from within! "Harry! HARRY!" Somebody, presumably the weasel, was bellowing. Sweet Salazar! I had come to the boys' rooms by mistake. There was another high-pitched, shaky voice, clearly Neville Longbottom's. I have never met such a cowardly Gryffindor (except for myself, but I don't count because I really should have been in Slytherin). "He's really ill. I'll go get help."

Merlin! Realisation hit me with the force of a well-thrown curse. He was going to see me! Glancing around me, I saw that there were no dark corners or alcoves for me to hide. Left with no choice, I scrambled down the stairs, wand at the ready. With a bit of luck, I'd be out of the other boys' earshot by the time Longbottom caught up with me. Sure enough, his nasal voice rang out as my feet hit the third flight of stairs. "What are _you_ doing here?" I spun around and pointed my wand at his face. "Obliviate! Confundus!" Instantly, his face went blank. By the time he was himself again, I was ready for him. "Hello there, Neville," I said pleasantly, trying to keep my voice steady. "Look how silly I am—I came up the wrong staircase by mistake. There's something dreadfully wrong with Harry Potter—he's really ill, so you'd better run along and let Professor McGonagall know. Bring her here, she will be able to help," I said, shunting Neville along down the stairs. Fortunately, he was used to being ordered about and padded off without any further ado.

I leaned against the cold wall, mind racing. What next? "Think like your father, Bella," I urged myself. What would he do? I really could not afford to make another mistake after that slip-up with the DA. Father would definitely rush in there, kill Potter and blow up the place for good measure so that the little brat couldn't come back and cause any more trouble. But I couldn't very well burst in and Avada Kedavra Potter, could I? He had strange, amazingly strong powers that even Father could not fathom. Besides, I had never cast a Killing Curse on my own before. Given my fatigued state, I knew I would only be able to weaken him at best. At worst, my curse would have no effect on him at all. Clearly, my brain had been addled by frustration and fatigue, for I was completely unable to think straight.

All of a sudden, it hit me. Of course! Information! Father would find out everything, then kill all persons concerned so that they would be unable to blab. There was absolutely no time to lose. I flew up to my dorm and tiptoed in so as not to wake the others. With shaking hands, I extracted my Invisibility Cloak from the very bottom of my trunk. (A/N: The cloak was given to her by her Father during a Death Eater meeting. It is not a true Invisibility Cloak. It just has a lot of Bedazzlement Hexes, Disillusionment Charms and the like placed on it. Thus, after it has been used three times, its magic will be completely exhausted and it will disintegrate. The reason why she didn't use an Invisibility Charm like she did in the Prologue was because the spell, which was invented my her father, is still in the experimentation stage and not reliable enough for such an important spying mission.) I quickly made my way back to Harry's dormitory.

I was in luck. The door has been left slightly ajar, and I could hear Professor McGonagall's crisp, curt voice: "I believe you, Potter. We're going to see the Headmaster." Shock coursed through me upon hearing her statement. Whatever had happened, it must be awfully severe if they were going to disturb the Headmaster in the middle of the night. I had to get to the bottom of this! Several seconds later, Professor McGonagall came striding out, followed by a sweaty, flustered Potter and an unusually pale Weasley. Although I had the protection of the Cloak, I still covered my mouth to muffle my ragged breathing and pressed myself into the wall so hard that the cold stone bit into my back. To my relief, all three of them stumped past without so much as a glance at me, each too preoccupied with his/her own thoughts. I tiptoed along, following them at a safe distance.

Sadly, they were silent as they walked, so I was unable to glean any information. We moved through endless dimly lit corridors, and finally came to an ugly stone gargoyle. The Professor strode forward and spoke to it, upon which it swung back to reveal a spiral staircase that was moving continuously upwards. Before I had a chance to get closer, they stepped forward and the wall closed in front of me with a dull thud. Biting back a moan of frustration, I sank to the ground, burying my head in my hands. Why on earth had I been so stupid, to stand so far away from them? Now, they were in Dumbledore's office, discussing important matters, Merlin knows what crucial information I was missing! Father would not be happy…

To my surprise, Professor McGonagall appeared after a short while and started off down the corridor in a swish of tartan robes. Hope swelled in my chest. Maybe I still had a chance to find out what all the fuss was about! I got to my feet and sprinted after her, trying to be quiet. Out of the blue, she ground to an abrupt halt just as she was about to turn the corner. I stopped too, narrowly avoiding crashing into her. Craning my neck, I soon understood why she had frozen. Strolling towards us was a squat, toad-like witch with a predatory grin on her ugly visage. Overwhelmed by her evil aura, I shuddered a little, pulling my cloak tight around me and shrinking backwards against the wall.

"Hello there, Minerva," she said in a sweet, simpering tone that starkly contrasted the sinister expression she was wearing. "You're just the person I wanted to see. You see, Potter and Weasley are out of their beds. Being the Head of Gryffindor House, I believed that you would be the most suitable person to inform me about their exact location. So. Where are they? " Her voice rose dangerously at the end of the sentence.

Professor McGonagall drew herself up, staring down at the shorter witch with thinly veiled disdain. "In the Headmaster's office. I am afraid Mrs. Weasley has suddenly taken ill in the middle of the night. Naturally, her sons and daughter are wanted back at home, in case she passes away before she sees them one last time. Potter, being an extremely close family friend, is wanted at the Weasley residence as well."

"What?!" Umbridge blustered, her face turning an ugly, blotchy red. "How dare they just up and leave without informing me? _I _ am the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts!"

"If you read the Minister's decree closely, Dolores, you would have noticed that you are only given the power to make sure unsatisfactory teachers are removed from Hogwarts and all decrees are followed," said Professor McGonagall coldly, looking at Umbridge with outright disgust by now. "Potter and Weasley have been given permission to return home by the Headmaster, given the severity of this emergency. Seeing as there are no decrees on this particular subject, I would say, Dolores, that you are quite powerless in this matter. Good night." And with that, Professor McGonagall turned on her heel and stalked off, leaving a speechless, fuming Umbridge in her wake.

After a long walk, we arrived at the fourth-year Gryffindor girls dormitory. I swiftly stepped inside before Professor McGonagall could close the door. Unsurprisingly, she headed straight for Ginny Weasley's bed and began shaking the fourth-year awake. "Miss Weasley!" hissed Professor McGonagall. "Wake up! Get up! You need to return home at once!" She gripped Ginny's arm firmly and began to pull her off the bed by degrees.

"What..wossat?" The youngest Weasley muttered blearily as she looked around her.

"We can't talk in here, Miss Weasley. Out, into the corridor, now!" The look on Professor McGonagall's face seemed to have roused the girl, for she quickly scurried out into the corridor, looking scared. I followed.

Once they were outside, Professor McGonagall said without preamble,"I'm sorry, Miss Weasley, but your father has been attacked. He is badly injured and you are to return to Headquarters immediately along with all your brothers and Mr. Potter. However, the official story is that your mother is gravely ill and that you are going back to the Burrow, so remember to keep all pretenses up."

By then, my head was spinning. Who had attacked Mr. Weasley? How did Professor McGonagall know? It was so late at night now! Who could possibly have tipped her off? And if the Burrow was their home, then what could Headquarters refer to? Evidently, Ginny had the same questions too. "But Professor!" she cried, pretty features twisted in consternation. "Who attacked him? How do you know he was badly injured? Where is he now? Where was he attacked?" She fired queries at poor Professor McGonagall non-stop.

At this, the Professor looked even graver. "Miss Weasley," said she, "what I am about to tell you must not be repeated to anyone outside your family, Mr. Potter and Miss Granger. Your father was attacked by a snake in the Ministry of Magic while doing some… ah, business for the Order. He is at St. Mungos now. It was Mr. Potter who informed us about the attack."

"Harry?" cried Ginny. "But..how?"

"Miss Weasley," said the Professor in a voice hardly above a whisper, "he had a dream, in which he saw the snake biting your father. It is believed that the snake… belongs to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

What?! My mouth fell open in shock. In that moment of stunned surprise, I forgot to keep a firm hold on my too-large cloak. It slipped off slightly, exposing my shoulder. This jolted me back to my senses and I swiftly recovered from my shock, yanking the cloak back up and tiptoeing away from them as fast as I could while not making any noise, but the damage had already been done. Professor McGonagall and Ginny Weasley were both staring at the spot where I had been standing, looking astounded. Professor McGonagall was the first to find her voice. "It appears that we have a midnight wanderer," she said. "Miss Weasley, kindly go wake the twins and go to the Headmaster's office with them. Professor Dumbledore will be waiting for you. I will now seal all the girls' dormitories. If you see anything unusual, report it to me immediately."

Upon hearing the words "seal all the girls' dormitories", I let out an involuntary gasp. Fighting back panic, I racked my brains for a way to get out of this. All of a sudden, I remembered the ink pellets that Fred and George had given to me earlier today for not reporting them when I caught them doing some illegal experimentation with the first years. Quickly moving to the top of the stairs, I fished them out of my pocket and threw them at Professor McGonagall as hard as I could. They burst upon impact, exploding in a spectacular burst of black, blue and purple ink that spattered all over the walls. Professor McGonagall coughed and spluttered, trying to get her bearings.

Taking advantage of her momentary distraction, I raced back up to the dormitory and dashed towards my bed, ripping off my cloak and school robes and stuffing them under my bed. i then leapt into bed wearing only my vest and an old pair of shorts, pulling the covers up over my head. I was just in time too—mere seconds later, a bright white light blazed across the doorframe and I knew that it had been magically locked.

After twenty or so minutes had passed, I judged that it was safe to get out of bed and put on my pyjamas. It was wintertime, and the dormitory was awfully cold. I was reclining peacefully, unable to believe my luck in escaping when a thought struck me: Father! He needed to know about what had happened. Immediately.

Sitting up, I envisioned my father sitting in his study, or perhaps resting. "Father! I need to talk to you now!" I called out to him, trying to visualise my voice travelling across space and time to reach him, wherever he was. To my relief, my call was answered almost instantly.

"Bella!" There was a note of surprise in his cool voice. "Why are you not sleeping?"

"Father, I need to know. Have you sent Nagini to the Department of Mysteries tonight?" I went straight to the point.

"Yes, I did. How did you know? That was supposed to be an undercover operation!" I could hear him trying to suppress his shock. To Lord Voldemort, being thrown for a loop by anybody, even, well _especially _his fifteen-year-old daughter was a show of weakness. Something which he would not tolerate.

"Father… Harry Potter had a dream tonight. He saw Nagini attacking that Muggle-loving fool Arthur Weasley in that dream. Of course, he told Professor McGonagall, who ran to Dumbledore. The blood traitor children and Potter have returned to a place they called the Headquarters— I suppose the Headquarters of the Order that Professor McGonagall mentioned. Unfortunately, Arthur Weasley is still alive and has been taken to St. Mungo's." I told him in one breath.

Father spoke slowly as if trying to wrap his head around my words. "Truly… odd, this is. I was possessing Nagini tonight, for my possession enhances her powers, just as they do yours. We were going to the Department of Mysteries tonight to do reconaissance. I was not intending to tell you about this Bella, you are still young and I wish to protect you." At this, I felt warmth surge over my body in spite of myself. I knew that the only reason why he put so much effort into keeping me safe was that I was important to him: his spy within Hogwarts, more of an asset than a liability. Had I been a bumbling, incompetent fool like Longbottom, he would have disposed of me unceremoniously years ago. _But still. _It was nice to think that he cared about me, even though I knew better than anyone else that he was incapable of love.

"Our plans have gone quite awry of late," he continued. "Avery, it seems, misinformed me about the prophecy. He oversimplified the problem and misled us all, making it seem as though all we had to do was stroll in there and take it. He was wrong. I presume you read about Broderick Bode, the Unspeakable we Imperiused, in the Daily Prophet? Bode must have known that he could not touch the prophecy, for he resisted the Imperius. This damaged his mental facilities quite severely. The physical contact with the prophecy was the last straw that broke the hippogriff's back—we have no idea what happened, but we do know that it drove him insane. He is now residing in St. Mungo's, on the Closed Ward for those whose damage is likely irrepairable." Father paused for breath. I could hear the hard edge of rage in his voice, and I shuddered to think of the punishment that he must have inflicted on Avery. It would probably make _my_ punishment for not joining Dumbledore's Army look like a walk in the park. 1

"Bode seems to be showing signs of recovery recently, and, for a while, we feared that he would spill the pufferfish eyes once he regained the ability to speak. Lucius, however, took care of that matter. He has arranged for Bode to be sent a deadly Christmas present—a clipping of Devil's Snare, disguised as an innocent Flutterby bush. Bode will be gone for good in a few weeks."

"I, however, have more pressing worries. As of now, none of my Death Eaters know about this, but in light of tonight's events, I think you should be privy to this knowledge. I have long suspected that the Order of the Phoenix, an organisation that opposed me valiantly in the First Wizarding War, has been reformed. Tonight's events, however, have confirmed this suspicion. A while ago, Lucius discovered Sturgis Podmore, a suspected member of the Order trying to get through the door of the Department of Mysteries. At that time, we had no idea what this was about." My heart was thudding in my chest. I did not like the way this was going at all. Judging by the foreboding tone of Father's voice, it seemed as though the Order of the Phoenix was a threat that we could not ignore, a force to be reckoned with. And if it had been reformed… that meant there were wizards and witches out there who believed that Father had risen again and were being vigilant. This was very bad news indeed.

"However, tonight, as I bit the Weasley man, a piece of paper fell out of his pocket. A roster. Detailing who was supposed to guard the entrance of Department of Mysteries at what time. They have Aurors and other powerful people on their side—people who would be able to best a good number of my Death Eaters in a duel. They know I am after the prophecy, and are guarding it quite securely." I gasped. This was terrible!

"However," continued my father, "the information that you have given me tonight is invaluable. Bode made it clear that he could not touch the prophecy, only the subject of the prophecy and those related to him could. With this new… connection, we may find a way to use Potter for our plans. Well done, Bella. I am proud of you. There is one more thing that you are to do—make sure you are not at those Muggles' home this Christmas. I am planning to have Lucius, our best strategist, know about your findings and see what he makes of them. We may need to have you on hand during the planning stage." And with that, the connection was cut off abruptly. He was gone.

I lay on the bed, a slow smile spreading over my face. For the first time in years, I had made Father proud of me. And I was determined to make that happen more often.

Footnote: Bella (while disguised as Gemma Gardner), was actually asked to join Dumbledore's Army by Hermione. However, she declined as she was afraid of Umbridge and what she might do if she caught the students. Having interacted with Death Eaters and with a father like Voldemort (and also being not a very nice person herself), Bella can sometimes 'sense' an 'evil aura' around certain people. It is _not_ a special ability, nor particularly useful. It is more of a 'sniffing out people who are similar to you' thing. When her father found out that she missed out on a chance to spy on Harry Potter, he was livid and punished her using the Cruciatus Curse. However, she was forgiven after successfully finding out about Harry's 'Voldemort antennae'.

A/N: Thank you for all your views and lovely comments! I am aware that this story, while tagged 'Romance', actually doesn't have any of it yet. Not to worry—the next chapter will contain some fluff/ first date. R&R please!


	7. Chapter 6--Hogsmeade

A/N: Fluffy romance time! This is my first time writing a romance scene and I am pretty much out of my depth here, being incredibly inexperienced in this field. Please feel free to correct me. Also, I have no idea what an Irish accent sounds like, so I will just make Seamus speak normally. Hope you don't mind!

And in case you were wondering, Gemma Gardner is the 'unidentified ginger Gryffindor girl' mentioned on Potterwiki. However, I made her friends with Lavender and Parvati instead of Fay Dunbar since I thought that Bella would have chosen the stereotypical 'dumb girls' to blend in with so that people would tend to underestimate her and thus trust her more. I haven't seen the movies yet, so my story will be canon-compliant as far as possible, but only compliant with the books, not necessarily the movies. Also, I didn't want her to take Divination because that would give her too much 'convenient information' about prophecies. I wanted her to really struggle to find a way to get it, or the story would be even more plotless than it already is.

Chapter 6: Hogsmeade

The day after my midnight escapade, I sat in the Gryffindor common room, chewing on a battered quill absentmindedly as I composed a letter to the Muggles.

_Dear Mum and Dad,_ (I wrote)

_I am afraid that I am not able to return home this Christmas. My Ordinary Wizarding Levels are coming up, and I need to work on my Herbology so that I can be accepted into Professor Sprout's N.E.W.T. class, as she is highly selective and only accepts students with an 'Outstanding', which I am currently far from achieving. I am dreadfully sorry about this and I promise to spend lots of time with you this summer vacation to make up for my absence._

_Your loving daughter,_

_Gemma_

I leaned back and smiled, pleased with my handiwork. It had taken me twenty minutes to compose this brief little note—lying to my 'parents' was harder than I had thought. At last, I had come up with the O.W.L.s excuse. It was partially true anyway—although I had absolutely no desire to be a Healer, my Herbology grades were not up to standard. Father, who had gotten twelve 'Outstanding' NEWTs back in the day, always remembered to remind me that neither he nor my mother had the proclivity to kill all the plants they came into contact with, so neither should I. I loved Father, but it was honestly so difficult sometimes—never good enough, never quite as smart, as ferocious, as ruthless as dear Mother had been.

"Gemma? What're you doing?" Parvati's clear, pretty voice jolted me out of my thoughts. "Oh, nothing much," I replied quickly. "Just writing a letter to my parents."

"Oh! Can I see?" She leaned across me, reaching for the parchment.

"No!" I cried, louder than intended, as I jerked it out of her reach. "I… it's private!" It simply would not do to have anyone find out that I was planning to stay at the castle for the Christmas holidays, especially since I would probably have to disappear halfway to meet Mr. Malfoy and Father.

Parvati let out a tinkling little laugh. "Oh, really? Or is it just a letter to a _boy_?" She made another wild grab at the paper.

"No, I swear, it's for my parents!" I cried, trying frantically to extricate myself from the situation. These days, boys were a touchy topic for me and there was no telling what I might accidentally reveal after being endlessly prodded and prompted by someone like Parvati. "I, uh, I have to post this right now! It's really urgent!" I leapt to my feet and fled the common room, blushing wildly.

I quickly posted the letter before I could run into any more inquisitive souls and proceeded to skulk around the Owlery, contemplating what to do next. Returning to the common room was out of the question—I would definitely be teased mercilessly by my 'friends'. However, I had absolutely nothing to do, as I had stupidly left all my study materials and homework in said common room. In the end, I simply skulked around the Owlery, cursing my lack of foresight.

"Gemma?" A sudden voice disturbed me as I was making up ah… _creative _names for silly me. "Why are you here?" I looked up. Seamus Finnigan was standing right in front of me, head tilted in confusion as those ocean-blue eyes stared at me intently. Instantly, my heartbeat skyrocketed and I could feel my palms sweating.

"Oh, um, the other girls were teasing me about something silly and I didn't want to go back to the Common Room to be mocked," I said, trying to sound witty.

"Really? How odd. Why would anyone want to make a pretty girl like you so distressed?" He flashed me his trademark smile and a wink. By now, my heart was beating so fast that I could actually hear it loud and clear. One part of my brain—the logical part, cautioned: He flirts with everyone, Bella! He even called Lavender 'absolutely ravishing' last week! Him calling you pretty means nothing! Nothing at all! Another part, however squealed in girlish delight at his compliment and squawked at me: Go on, Bella! If you want him to notice you, you have to make the first move! This isn't the Victorian Era! You can't just sit there and wait for a nice guy to fall from the sky!

The emotional, illogical teenage-girl part got the better of me, much to my dismay. Before I even realised what I was saying, I blurted out, "Thanks! Um, there's a Hogsmeade visit tomorrow, and, and I'm… not going with anyone at the present so I um, was, ah, wondering if…" I trailed off awkwardly, watching him anxiously for a response.

"Sure!" He beamed at me. "Sounds great! I'll meet you in the Great Hall at ten o'clock tomorrow morning, okay? Bye—I've got something I need to be doing right now." Seamus flashed me that dazzling smile again and bounced off before I had a chance to say anything. I stared at his retreating back, grinning dazedly.

Then it hit me. Oh, Merlin. What _had_ I done? I had just asked Seamus Finnigan, the biggest flirt Hogwarts had seen in a hundred years, on a date, even though I had spoken less than ten sentences to him over the past year. Sweet Salazar! The rest of the House—the school, even, would think me a scarlet woman! I could practically visualise the rest of the common room sniggering among themselves and saying things like, "Did you hear? Gardner asked Finnigan out! Who does she think she is, anyway, she's not even that beautiful! What a (censored), throwing herself at a boy like that!"

I let out an aggrieved moan. What on earth was wrong with me? Controlling my impulses and keeping a cool head had always been my strong suit until two or three months ago. Now, I found myself shooting off my mouth and doing unpredictable, reckless things at all the wrong times.

"Calm down, Bella," I told myself firmly. "It's just an outing to Hogsmeade with a fellow House member. You're overreacting. This is nothing, anyway. Don't your friends date around all the time? Parvati went to the Yule Ball with Harry Potter last year, and nothing ever came out of it anyway." Sufficiently cheered by that little bit of self-talk, I happily headed off towards Gryffindor Tower.

Halfway there, though, I remembered that the common room was the last place I should be now. Unless, of course, I thought death by endless teasing was a fun way to go. "Oh, _bugger_!"

"Don't worry, Gemma," Parvati said kindly as she carefully maneuvered my bright red hair into a French braid. "You look really good." I nodded and fidgeted nervously with my baby-blue robes, not really paying attention.

"Ooh!" Lavender squealed as she sauntered in from the bathroom, immaculately made up as usual. "My baby is growing up! Gemma, you're finally going on your first date!" She bounced over and flung her arms around my neck, overly affectionate as usual.

"Careful!" shrieked Parvati, flapping her arms and fending Lavender off. "Don't ruin her hair, or I swear I'll kill you! It took me ages to get that braid just right! " Lavender sprang back, a look of mock-alarm on her face. Meanwhile, Hermione Granger, sitting on her bed a few feet away, let out a dramatic sigh. She obviously disapproved of our frivolity. "Really, though, Gemma," continued Lavender. "How did you manage to get a date with such a handsome boy just a day in advance?"

"It's not a date!" I insisted, even though my flaming cheeks gave me away. "We're just going as friends!"

"That's what they all say," Lavender smirked at me. "Anyway," she went on briskly, suddenly getting into 'business mode', "are you ready? Makeup? Check. Robes done up properly and everything? Check. Hair looking wonderful, of course, thanks to Parvati. Stockings? Good, those are really thick, they'll keep you warm. Shoes? _Oh_ _no_!" She suddenly let out a theatrical shriek.

"The heels of those shoes are way too high and not sturdy enough, Gemma! You won't last two seconds in that snow wearing those! Here, put these on instead!" She yanked my favourite pair of black wedge heels off my feet and thrust a practical pair of turquoise ballet flats at me. I hastily complied. Anything to keep her quiet. Or at least relatively so.

"There!" Parvati pulled me to my feet and spun me around. "Perfect! Seamus will surely fall in love with you the moment he sees you—oh, stop blushing, Gemma, it makes you look really unattractive, clashes awfully with your hair. Gosh! Look at the time! You've got to get going at once!" She and Lavender each seized one of my arms and piloted me out of the dormitory.

"Now, Gemma," Lavender bellowed after me as I began my descent down the stairs. "Chin up, don't look nervous, and whatever you do, don't suddenly blurt out that you're truly, madly, deeply in love with him! It's only the first date; don't scare him off with your intensity!"

I laughed in spite of myself. These girls were dreadfully silly about the most trivial of things, but they always had my back and that was really nice.

In no time at all, I had met up with Seamus at the Great Hall and went with him to be checked by Filch before leaving. Filch, wearing an overlarge red-and-green scarf, carefully checked our names against the list of students allowed to go to Hogsmeade before letting us go. His eyes were suspiciously red and puffy, and he was clutching his foul cat a little tighter than usual. I supposed holidays like Christmas reminded him exactly how lonely he was. I was in no mood to feel sorry for him, though—he was even meaner than usual, snapping and snarling at virtually everyone.

However, when we finally got out, I suddenly found myself longing for the noisiness of the Great Hall. Now that we had left the school, my lack of speech seemed even more conspicuous in the quiet surrounding us. I could practically hear the delicate snowflakes hitting the ground.

"Come on," I urged myself. "You were almost a Ravenclaw; you can't be this stupid, can you? Say something witty, for Merlin's sake!" But I couldn't. It seemed as though my brains had been replaced by sawdust the moment I came into close contact with Seamus. All I could do was to sneak peeks at his face every now and then as we dragged our feet through snowdrifts five inches deep.

At last, he broke the silence. "So," he said, grinning brightly. "Where d'you live?" It was clear to me that he had said that just to dispel the awkwardness that hung heavily between us, thick enough to be cut with my silver dagger. Touched by his efforts, I replied, "Oh, in London. The non-magical part; my parents are Muggles. The Leaky Cauldron's actually a short distance away from my apartment, but I never looked carefully at it. Just goes to show how unobservant people are, huh? Actually, speaking of observing, I used to do that a lot when I was a little kid. Back then, my parents had just started setting up their business, and there was no one I could talk to. I used to look at all the people passing by from my window and make up weird stories about them. It was fun."

I finished my speech and looked up to see Seamus staring at me, open-mouthed. "Blimey, Gemma," he said. "I've never heard you say so much in five years."

I laughed nervously. "Yeah…I'm kind of shy, so I don't say much in social situations. Besides, my friends are so chatty that there's hardly any room for me to get a word in." This was not quite true. I was never the talkative type, but neither was I pathologically shy, although I used to be terrified of strangers as a child. However, after years of being told, "You have two ears and one mouth, Bella. Would you care to explain that phenomenon?" by Father, I eventually evolved into a fringe-of-the-group type who observed instead of speaking.

He nodded sympathetically. "I know how that feels." _I _knew that he didn't, since he was the most outgoing, exuberant person I had ever met, but I really appreciated how hard he was trying to make me feel at ease.

As we entered the Three Broomsticks for some Butterbeer and perhaps an early lunch, he asked, "Do you listen to Celestina Warbeck? I do, all the time!" My eyes widened in delight. Finally, someone who didn't find my favourite singer old-fashioned!

"Definitely!" I exclaimed, trying (and failing) to sound calm and cool. "I spent all summer walking dogs for Muggles to get enough money for her newest record."

He grinned genially, probably taken aback by my enthusiasm. "Yeah, she's great. Me mam started playing her music to me when I was six. " We had finally found a common topic that we could talk about without any inhibitions. And talk we did.

"I can't sing at all," I confessed over sandwiches and Butterbeer. "My parents wear earplugs when I hum along to my records."

"Really?" He looked interested. "Try singing something; let's see how bad it is."

"A cauldron full of hot strong love… " I yodeled. He promptly choked on his food. "Merlin! You sound like a dying cat!"

"One that's been stuck full of pins and is howling in agony," I corrected him. Seamus burst out laughing, nearly spraying Butterbeer all over the table. All the earlier tension between us seemed to have mystically dissipated. I stared at his sparkling eyes, flushed cheeks and twitching lips, trying to memorise every last detail of this perfect moment.

A few hours later, we were walking back to the castle, arms laden with purchases from Honeydukes and Zonko's. All in all, our time together had gone fairly well. There had been a number of good moments—the first time I made him laugh, when we discovered that we both loved Chocolate Frogs best of all—but we had our share of painfully awkward moments too. The worst one was when I batted my eyelashes at him, trying to look cute like Lavender had taught me. It did get his attention, but in a rather unexpected manner. Instead of winking at me like Parvati had predicted, he stopped walking and very seriously asked me if I had something in my eye. I honestly wanted to curl up and die of embarrassment when that happened.

"Gemma?" Seamus' voice shattered my reverie. I snapped to attention and quickly turned to face him. I think I stared at him a little too hard though—two spots of colour rose in his cheeks and he avoided my gaze.

"I just wanted to say… I think you're really interesting and it would be nice if we could go out again." My heart started racing. He wanted to see me again? He hadn't been annoyed by my awkwardness and lack of romantic talent, or alarmed by my intensity? I tried to give him a coy smile, but it morphed into a huge grin.

"Thanks! Great idea!" I told him. He looked immensely relieved, and gave me one last smile before heading up to his dormitory.

I was halfway up to my dorm, walking on air, with that stupid grin plastered all over my face when it hit me. _What would Father say? _Father, who never believed in love, would be horrified at the idea of me dating someone when I should be focusing on the prophecy and his various other plans for ridding the world of Potter. Furthermore, Seamus was a half-blood, for Merlin's sake! What had I been thinking?

"It's okay, Bella," I told myself firmly. "What Father doesn't know won't kill him. You just have to brush up on your Occlumency skills." But this time, the professional liar was unable to fool herself.


End file.
